All Along
by Raxicoricofallapatorious
Summary: Sherlock's relationship with Janine was endured only for a case. Girlfriends aren't his area. But he still played along, acted as he should. But certain emotions are hard to fake. So he didn't. He just… repurposed them from elsewhere. Johnlock. Onesided-ish. SEASON 3 SPOILERS.


**(A/N: This one has been bugging me for a while [haven't they all?]. But in light of Netflix recent addition of Sherlock's third season, and my repeated watching of each episode [AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THE BONUS FEATURES! XD], I decided to write it. It's a bit short and what you see is what you get, but it's what I always think of when I happen upon the kissing scene [and in that moment, we were all John]. Enjoy!)**

How would I tell you? How could I possibly explain it? It is a boundary that we both know to stay away from, one we've never spoken about.

One I'm afraid to bring up.

It's an interesting thing, fear. Up to a certain point in my youth I was emotional and sentimental and dramatic, as children tend to be, or so I'm told. But I locked everyone out and, consequentially, my emotions away. Traumatic experiences tend to have that affect, although I doubt they usually last twenty-something odd years.

I was about three, if memory serves, and it always does, when I received him as a present. It wasn't Christmas or my birthday or some other holiday I can't be bothered to remember. In fact, my parents were planning a second honeymoon; well-deserved in their eyes after ten years of successful marriage and the birth of two intelligent children. They were going to America for a "cross-country road trip". I remember I couldn't fathom why America had wanted to be so large when it was far more interesting to see how many countries you could cross through. I had imagined seeing the same country for so long must be boring.

In any case, they knew I desired attention greatly and were well aware of Mycroft's propensity to avoid me at all costs. And so they purchased me a loyal companion, a puppy. Admittedly I was disappointed at first. I couldn't have conversations with a dog, it can't talk back. However, I quickly learned that just because he couldn't talk, didn't mean he couldn't listen.

Dogs are well known for their intelligence and loyalty, but something caused Redbeard reach beyond expectations. Perhaps he was born with it; perhaps it was my vicinity. Either way, he learned quickly, followed directions exceptionally well, and became immediately bonded to my side. If I was walking down the hallway, Redbeard was not two paces behind. If one could see Redbeard sitting guard in front a door, I was undoubtedly up to no good inside. We became very close, very quickly, but I honestly got the better end.

From Redbeard, I earned a loving friend who was willing to do anything for me. From me, Redbeard earned a sharp tongue that was quicker to chastise than to praise, a hand that was quicker to pull or push than to pet, and an owner who could memorise the entire phonetic alphabet in one sitting but had issues remembering to feed him. Yet he loved me still, despite my faults and failings, and so I saw no reason to change. And in the end it killed him.

When I first went to school it was at home itself, which was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing as such that I gained a higher education in a safe environment with Redbeard at my side. It was a curse as such that I gained a higher education than my later to be peers and never really learned how to properly interact with others. So when I first went to public school, I was both greatly ahead and behind. My first day was disastrous due to my quick wit, sharp eye, and lack of filter. It didn't help I felt naked without Redbeard's constant presence at my feet. The day ended with three children crying, two angry teachers, one upset parent, and a whole building full of enemies.

I swore I'd never go back.

But in the end, I had no say in the matter and the next day, I was wearing the same uniform as the day before, carrying my knapsack on my shoulders, and leaving Redbeard howling at the gate. And when I returned hours later, Redbeard would be waiting at the gate, barking in excitement as I walked round the corner and up to the house. It always hurt to leave him behind, but seeing him there always put a smile on my face.

As I grew older, Redbeard was allowed to follow me to where the car would pick me up and drop me off. There were more than a few times when I would choose to walk through the small town nearby rather than return home. It was during one of these such walks where everything went wrong.

Redbeard and I had just passed a small bakery and were headed for the playground at the outskirts of the park. There was a large oak that we would rest under and occasionally munch on baked treats I purchased. We had reached the entrance of the park when I heard a voice call out my name. I happily ignored it and kept walking. But they called again and again and again until they finally caught up and grabbed my arm, wrenching it sideways.

I faced a regular bully that had chosen me as their favourite target. So far they had been clever enough not to leave bruises where they could easily be seen and never in the presence of an adult. I had become practiced at avoiding certain people and passing by unnoticed. But I found myself in an inescapable situation.

The bully began to tease, verbally hitting on all the faults and insecurities that I carried. Then, when I didn't flinch or cry or react in any way, they moved on to light shoves. I eventually ended up in the dirt. Redbeard, who had been silent up until that point, gave a low, warning growl. The bully turned their attention onto him instead and began calling him cruel names. Then they kicked Redbeard, causing him to fall back with a yelp. I lunged.

We rolled around in the dirt for a bit, but the bully had the advantage and soon stood above me, kicking my stomach and sides and face over and over again.

Redbeard was only trying to protect me. He was just keeping me safe. And yet, because the bully bled, Redbeard was in the wrong. Redbeard was a vicious animal. He was dangerous. Needed training. Needed a muzzle. To be put down. And, despite my arguments and evidence to prove otherwise, he was.

I lost the only friend I had ever had. And it left me broken and hurting and empty. I slowly closed myself off from the outside world, protecting my emotions and my heart so I would never find myself in that situation ever again. That deep rush of all-encompassing fear I experienced when my parents informed me that Redbeard was being put down was the last thing I had ever really felt.

Until you. And Moriarty. And the pool.

Seeing you step out alone into the swirling light of the pool caused my heart to stop. Realising that you weren't Moriarty caused it to surge and fall all at once. Revealing the bombs strapped to your chest made my heart stop all over again. Then Moriarty stepped out and all I could feel was rage and fear.

Thankfully we came out okay.

But it made me think. I had been ignorant to how quickly you had wormed your way into my life. I hadn't realised just how deep you'd burrowed or how close you my heart you rested. But you did. And I believed that now I knew where you stood and what that meant to me I could keep you there and not let you draw any closer.

Yet it took Moriarty again to show me just how wrong I was. I had no control over us. It developed on its own to its own extent and without my knowing. And it wasn't until I stood on that roof, facing Moriarty who was dangling your _life _in my face, that I began to feel it.

But it wasn't until I stood on the edge of that roof, looking down at you and listening to you plead with me over the phone, that I fully realised just how much you mean to me. How much I love you…

Then I was gone for two years.

I missed you every day that I was away. I didn't even allow myself to stay in England. I made sure that I locked away your mobile number in your wing of my mind palace. Even then you still encompassed my thoughts. Several times during my escapades, I posed as a kind, quiet, unassuming doctor named John. It nearly blew my cover twice, but I didn't care. Anything to keep you close until I could return.

And then I did. I came back.

And you had moved on.

You had _Mary_ now and didn't need me. But I need you. And so I pushed and pleaded and apologized over and over until you finally forgave me. But it was short lived. Because then you got married and I knew, I _knew_, that she would take you away from me, but you were happy so I couldn't say anything. You were happy, so I swallowed my pride and my hurt and my thoughts and my love and let you move on to something better.

…

I never told you when I started drugs again. I never told you why I left early; you never asked. I never told you that I dug through an old metal case I had buried in my closet to find my last stash. I never told you that I waited five days for you to call, to leave a message, an email, a text.

I never told you I began on the week anniversary of your marriage, of your new life.

I never told you I imagined you there and yelling at me for doing this to myself and ransacking my room to find what I had hidden elsewhere and caring for me until I finally fell asleep after nearly six days of just short thirty minute naps.

I never told you. And I never will. Not until you ask.

But this. This I have to get off my chest, somehow. Even if it is transcribed in a shakily written letter that will never see the light of day again.

Every second we were together, every time our skin or lips touched, every time her hand slid into mine I pretended it was you. Every conversation, every laugh, every look was with you. She was just a shadow of the person I wanted. She was just a means to an end, but it ended with me encouraging a fantasy of something that could never be.

Especially not now.

I couldn't tell you to your face. Not even when I knew I would never see you again. I just couldn't get the words out, so I settled for one more smile. I know you'll be okay this time. You have Mary and your daughter to help you.

And as I fly away and look back one last time, allowing myself to feel, I find myself writing. I guess I just want you to know that I never saw or felt or smelt or tasted or dreamed it was her. It was always you. All along.

**(A/N: Okay, so I kinda melded two ideas into one, and it came out ****_way _****more angsty than I had anticipated. I am so sorry about that. OnO Review if you wanna.)**


End file.
